


Nails

by Mindwiped



Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Whovian (Doctor Who)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-28 01:44:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16231649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mindwiped/pseuds/Mindwiped
Summary: The new X-Man Preschool/ Kindergarten Teacher helps Henry out at a public political event.  He repays her with foot rubs,  back scratching, intellectual, and physical stimulation.





	Nails

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Kadenwalsh for beta reading. This is my first work, please tell me about any errors. Constructive criticism welcomed.

It all started when Ororo couldn't be Henry's usual partner to one of his political galas. She had bought tickets to a play months earlier. You'd heard him sigh, and contrary to your usual quiet self, you offered to step in. He was surprised and grateful, offering to cover the cost of your outfit and set you up with a hotel room for the night, or the entire weekend.  
“Your apartment has a spare bed, right?”  
“Of course, but…”  
“Then why go to the bother of a hotel? It's not like we don't already sleep under the same roof every night you're here.”  
“If you're ok with it, I am too.”  
“It's a date, you joke. 

You'll never admit this to him, or anyone, but you were happy to have a ‘date,’ or at least a night or two away. It wasn't like you don't like your job or the kids, but being on call to your students and around so many high-powered mutants all the time was exhausting. Even an event where you had to dress up and be polite to complete strangers was going to be a nice change. 

Finding a dress that's elegant enough for this event was a bit more of a challenge than you'd expected. Unlike nearly everyone else over age sixteen at the mansion, you're the only woman under five foot six, and you definitely don't have the lean build the other women have. 

A guy in high school described you as a ‘brick shit house.’ You then proceeded to slam his body to the ground, protecting the female quarterback in your ‘playful’ girls vs. guys football game at your senior year picnic. It wasn't that you weren't womanly, but willowy wasn't ever a way to describe you. Looking back, you'd probably used your mutation to root yourself to the ground, because unless you chose to, no one moved you that day. The green thumb you'd always had turned out to be a bit more than just a green thumb, but you weren't on the power level of most of the household.

Finally, after hunting through the nearest mall and on the internet for two weeks, you found your dress; it was black, which showed off your pale skin and faintly auburn, dark brown hair, simple, but elegant, and it didn't even need to be hemmed, falling right below the knee! The shoes you had in your closet already, plain flats, but Henry has nearly a foot of height on you; why bother torturing your toes to appear taller. Smiling, you happened to find shimmery tights the exact color of Henry, a small detail, but it also makes your blue eyes pop even more. It won't hurt to make you stand out just a little on your own. It'll keep you from blending into the herds of politicians. The other plus of thights is that they'll also keep you warm enough to forgo a coat for the walk from the curb to the door and back at the end of the evening.

The day before the party you take the afternoon train into DC, meeting up with Henry as you'd planned. Wisely, the next afternoon0, you scheduled an appointment and had your hair styled into a half up. That keeps it from smudging your makeup or getting in your eyes, while still showing off the waist length hair you mostly keep in braids, buns, and ponytails back at the school. The stylist adores your naturally wavy hair and excitedly plays with it, fussing with each strand, so you have a fall of soft ringlets down your back. Even you've got to admit it looks amazing, but it was way too high maintenance for every day. 

When you get back to the apartment to dress there's a box with a note on the guest bed. 

“A little birdie told me blue, and silver would match your ensemble, and I know you hate the waste of cut flowers. Please accept this token instead of a corsage.  
Henry"  
Opening the box, you find a bangle bracelet of silver ivy with small dark blue enameled flowers occasionally peeking through the leaves. You smile, deciding to skip the necklace you'd brought with you, and wear the bracelet with your aquamarine earrings. Quickly you put on your makeup, dark blue eyes to accent both the blue of them and your date's fur. Shimmery pink lipstick since you've made up your eyes dramatically. Your favorite perfume, then get into your dress, having worn the undergarments for the dress to the hair stylist, to avoid destroying her creation shimmying into Spanx. All dressed up you feel the most feminine you've felt in years, working with either plants or children doesn't require anything formal, it’s better not to. 

Somewhat shyly you step out into the living room, then realizing you've finished getting ready before your date. You skim his bookshelf, finding a classic you've not read in years, and settle carefully on his couch to wait.  
You're a couple of chapters in when he emerges, but you're too deep into the book to realize he's ready. He looks down, not quite sure what to expect and finds himself gazing at a beauty, completely distracted by the book, making you all the more attractive to him.  
Clearing his throat, you jump slightly, turn, and look up. You'd seen him on TV in his tuxedo, but it's not like the view in person. For one, there's no smell with tv, a strange and appealing mix of faint cologne, books, that scent that is just Henry, and something you swear smells like one of the kid's hair detangling spray.  
He smiles then asks, “Are you sure you want to go through with this? There's no worse way to out yourself as a mutant than to be my date at one of these.”  
You laugh, “Henry, my family already knows, and frankly, I don't care if the rest of the world thinks or knows. Besides, I know you've taken non-mutants to some events in the past.”  
“Yes, well, I just don't want to push you into this.”  
“Since you seem to have forgotten, I offered. If I hadn't been willing, I wouldn't have done so,” I reply in the voice I use to explain why my decision stands with my class.  
He chuckles, offers his arm, and announces, “Well then m’lady, your chariot awaits.”  
I grab my coat, planning to leave it in the car, because I'd rather bring it and never use it, than not have it and need it. He kindly escorts us to the limo waiting at the curb. 

 

The night starts out wonderfully. First a dinner, with various political speeches I was lucky enough to be able to ignore mostly, and lovely food. Then dancing, where Henry does his best to make me look better at dancing than I really am. Jean did her best to try to give me psychic quick and dirty dance lessons, but she has legs so much longer than me that it was tricky to adjust. Still, I couldn't blame her, I was the idiot who didn't know how, and she warned me when I begged that it might not work. 

Two other politicians ask me to dance, and I manage not to smash their toes, so something must have sunk in. The first was a lovely gentleman, Senator McCain, who made polite small talk. The second was Robert Kelly, one of Henry's political opponents, who wanted me to either declare my mutation or announce myself as a “mutant loving whore.” I managed to dance him into a corner near the ivy growing up one wall, and demonstrated my mutation. I stuffed his handkerchief into his mouth and let the ivy hold it in place. 

“Gosh, I sure hope the cleaners find you,” I all but growl in his ear. “Otherwise, it might be a long weekend for you.” Then I turn and promptly head back to my table for a glass of water the waiters have been so kind about keeping full. It's amazing what please and thank yous accomplish. The evening is all but over at that point. And I'm not sure who is more ready to leave, Henry or myself. 

As soon as we're back in the limo, we both kick off our shoes, and I grab a makeup remover wipe from my coat pocket. I love the look of eyeshadow, but remembering not to rub your eyes, smearing it everywhere, is a pain.  
“Henry,” I almost whisper, “you might want to call a political friend. Maybe Senator McCain?”  
“What's happened?” He asks, gently worried for me.  
“Well, Robert Kelly is stuck in the ivy,” I confess.  
“Oh my stars and garters, Sara Jane, what happened?”  
“He asked me if I was a mutie, or just a mutie loving whore, so I showed him my mutation,” I confess.  
Henry starts laughing, a deep, honest belly laugh, the infectious kind that soon had me laughing with him until my eyes start watering.

Finally, he manages to announce, “Serves him right, but I will send a text so that he won't be there till Monday.”  
As he pulls out his phone, I wipe my eyes and tell him where the jerk is trapped, to make it a little easier for the rescue party. I also ask him to tell them not to be too rough with the ivy; it's not the poor plant’s fault the senator was a jerk.  
About the time he finishes up texting the details, we're back at his apartment building. I reluctantly shove my feet back into my shoes and grab my bag and coat. Henry pockets his phone and just picks up his shoes, walking barefoot into the building. We wearily ride the elevator to his floor, and as soon as we're through the door, I kick off my shoes for good. He asks if I'm too tired or would I be willing to sit with him now that the evening's over.

“So long as I can get out of formal wear and have a drink, I'm fine with something simple, just please, no more dancing.”  
“I noticed you didn't drink tonight, do you usually?” He asks.  
“Rarely, and even more so in public, but my feet hurt and I earned something for only trapping Senator Jerkface for hours,” I respond.  
“Fair enough, shall we meet back out here after donning more comfortable attire?” he questions  
“Deal,” I respond and take myself and the shoes to his guest room. I'm really grateful none of the gals managed to talk me into heels, my feet hurt enough without the added pain of that. I get myself out of the dress, tights, and Spanx, and into a pair of PJs, comfortable and a little shabby after the earlier finery. Then I hang up the dress and head for the hall bathroom and wash all the makeup off, putting on moisturizer only. 

I wander into his kitchen and fix myself a drink. He, like Charles, has very nice whiskey, so I pour a little on the rocks and curl up on the couch again, but much less cautious of wrinkling my clothes this time. I'm almost ready to pick back up the book, but Henry comes out of his room, dressed in a t-shirt and shorts. He spies me on the couch and smiles, meandering to the kitchen to find his drink, a glass of milk. He settles on the opposite end of the couch.  
“I figured I'd let you know they freed the Senator, and only had to trim the vine across his waist.”

“Thank you. I tried to tell the ivy to let him go after the first cut, but I never know if it'll listen if I'm not there. It was nearly as upset as I was, so I wasn't sure if it would try to fight the Senator’s release.”  
“The plant was upset? I know from studies they respond to emotion, but I never knew they had feelings of their own.”  
“I'm not sure if they're true feelings, or merely projections of my own, but they have had moods differing from mine. Mostly they are sun-loving, heat worshipping, and I much prefer cooler weather and not burning to a crisp.”  
“The sun isn't energizing for you, as it is for a plant?”  
“No, I may not be a redhead, but I inherited their skin coloring from my grandmother. She was a redhead. I tend to either be very pale, tomato red, or peeling like a shedding snake.”  
He laughs, then says he prefers it cooler, panting tends to make one look either dog-like or moronic, thereby making me laugh.  
I then yawn and stretch; hearing joints pop down my back, and to my ankles I cross my legs, planning to rub my arches, hoping to lessen their aching.  
“Please, allow me,” Henry states. “It's the least I can do after your company and the relatively gentle handling of Robert.”  
I wouldn't complain about anybody willing to rub my feet.  
“Thank you for managing to not step on them. Jean tried to teach me to dance but….”  
At that word, he firmly runs his thumbs up your insole, and you drop any thought of the subject and exhale with pleasure.  
“Not too hard?”  
“Nuh un,” you murmur, nearly drooling, and shaking your head slightly.  
He laughs and keeps rubbing, as your IQ drops to the point where nearly all you can remember to do is breathe and nearly moan with happiness.  
“If this is the payment for being your date,” you mumble, “ ‘Ro might have to fight me for the next event.”  
At that, he belly laughs again and stops rubbing, which makes you whimper a little. He picks up your other foot and starts the same treatment on it, which does drag a moan from the back of your throat.  
“Also, before I forget, thank you for the bracelet. It was perfect.”  
“I'd hoped it would be,” he says almost nervously. “The vine seemed perfect for you, but I was surprised to hear you were wearing blue.”  
“Why not,” I respond. “The color works well with my eyes, it matches my birthstone, and looks good with my date's coloring.”  
He turns faintly purple at that last part, and I suddenly realize he's blushing.  
“I hope my choice wasn't a problem for you,” I stammer  
“Not at all, just very few women would color coordinate their outfits to their date’s fur.”  
“Than they're either dumb or too vain to take advantage of coordinating with your coloring. More the fools them,” I judge on the subject. “Thank you for my foot rub. Might I be able to ask one more favor?”  
“Simply name it,” he replied  
“Would you scratch my back? The zipper on that dress irritated my back all evening,” I ask, not ready to say it was really the seam of my Spanx and the hooks on my bra.  
“Are you sure you want ME to do so?” He asks holding out his hand showing his nails as five sharp points.  
“I'm quite sure that if you're able to rub my feet without scratching them once, you are more than able to scratch my back. They're just nails.”  
“As m’lady requests,” he quietly replies, and I turn my back. He starts off so gently it tickles, and soon I'm squirming.  
“Too much,” he worries, pulling away from his hand.  
“No, you were tickling, not itching. I don't think that could scratch a newborn's skin,” I giggle.  
At that, I almost feel him relax a little, and he starts scratching, gently again, but not tickling. I lean into his hand and sigh. Once we worked out how much pressure his nails need to really scratch, but not hurt, he takes over and scratches up and down my spine, soothing my skin, I shift slightly, so he's scratching over one shoulder blade, and sigh.  
“That's the spot that's always itchy,” I state and learn into his hand just a little further. He changes his motion into a circular pattern, and I nearly melt into his lap. Somehow, I end up resting my head on his thigh, facing out towards the room  
“Once again, ‘Ro’s never getting one of these gigs again,” I sigh. “Foot rubs and back scratches are the best.”  
He laughs, as he keeps scratching gently over my back in some pattern that he's designed in his mind.  
“So, you have a blue birthstone,” he asks. “March or December?”  
“March 15th, the ides of March,” I reply. “You didn't even consider September?”  
“Nope, traditional birthstone sapphires are a deeper blue than your earrings.”  
“When's your birthday?” I question back.  
“September 4th.’  
“That explains knowing that these might not be a September birthstone. Most people forget that most aquamarines are paler than blue topaz.”  
“Plus so many people just use blue topaz for March,” he replies.  
“Drives me nuts when they do, but it's typically a gift from a grandparent, so I learned to thank them, and wear it next Christmas.”  
He chuckled, and his hand stilled, “You must be exhausted by now, he said quietly.”  
“Getting there, but also enjoying conversation with an adult without worrying about anything either happening with one of my young’uns or teenage angst rearing its ugly head,” I sigh. “So glad I have the mutant preschool, and not the older group. You should have heard the older girls trying to help me find an outfit.”  
“Bad?”  
“You have no idea,” I snark. “Everything from clothes for a streetwalker to Barbie's prom dress.”  
He laughs enough for his whole body to shake, so I sit up, take a sip of my drink, and grab my phone. 

I pull up the photo of scraps of a dress Jubilee suggested and turned the screen.  
“Oh, my stars!”  
“Yeah, I refused even to try it on.” Scrolling through I find the pale pink frothy mess I did try on and turn it to him again.  
He leans his head back and laughs so hard the entire couch wobbles. “Your face… makes the ensemble complete.”  
In the photo, I've got my hands on my hips, and I'm scowling. “Yeah after that being Kitty’s pick, and this,” scrolling to a pale blue slip dress that is both too informal and too chilly for February, “Marie's pick. I sent the girls to go play in the mall with a meeting time and place and shopped on my own.”  
“Your pick was perfect, and the colored hosiery a different touch, that was still elegant.”  
“I needed something that made it look like I wasn't attending a funeral per Jean. She'd suggested a shawl, but I've never managed to keep one on without dropping half and tripping somebody. Colored tights it was. Besides, your gift pulled the whole thing together. I'm guessing Jean was your informant for colors?” I guessed  
“Correct, but I promised to keep it to myself,” he confirmed.  
“I won't say a thing, but I'm betting she’ll know anyway,” I say as I drain my drink  
“Thank you.”  
“Anytime. Now, I am ready for my well-earned sleep,” I say, taking my glass to the kitchen sink. “Sleep well, Henry.”  
“Pleasant dreams, Sara Jane.”

The next morning you wake up late, having silenced your cell and not set an alarm. You sneak across the hall to the bathroom to deal with morning breath, and after you look in the mirror you remember why you always braid your hair for bed! With a couple of white stripes you would look like the bride of Frankenstein. It takes nearly fifteen minutes to tame it into a messy bun. You head back to the room and dress for the day, then wander towards the kitchen.  
“Good morning Sara Jane.”  
“Mornin’,” you mutter back and head for the half-full coffee pot. After a sip, you ask, “have you been up long?”  
“About an hour, but I wanted to let you sleep as late as you wanted. I know your charges are early birds. Plus, it gave me a chance to read the paper.”  
“Well thank you. Anything important in the news?”  
“Actually, you,” he smiles and holds up the society page.  
It's a decent photo of the two of them. However, the headline makes your eyes widen.  
MCCOY’S MUTANT DATE DEFENDS SELF  
“Oh crap!” you manage to blurt out.  
“Actually, Senator McCain talked with the press on your behalf. Stated that you were a perfect lady, and merely restrained your attacker,” Henry proudly says, and you confirm, quickly skimming the article.  
“I owe him a plant and a huge thank you,” I say sighing. “Did Senator Kelly make a statement or press charges?”  
“No, I believe that after John told the press why you'd chosen that action, rather than the physical assault to his manhood that most other women would have used he was too embarrassed.”  
That set me to giggling. “I hadn't even considered putting my knee to use, honestly. He wanted to know if I was a mutant, so I demonstrated that I was.”

Drinking a bit more coffee, my brain woke up.  
“We don't have the press to worry about when we leave the building, do we?”  
“I don't think so, they may approach us at the station, they know I'm planning to leave town for a week. If I wear my image inducer and we board separately, that should throw them off. If needed, I'll release a press statement from the mansion.”  
“Thank you! I'm not worried about my parent's reaction, but I really didn't wanna be caught in a mob of paparazzi.”  
“It'll help that we're leaving at a peak time, that makes it harder to mob. And the trains no longer allow people without tickets to board the train, so once we're on, things will be fine.”  
“Good.”  
“Exactly. Now to change subjects, is there anything you'd like to do or see today?”  
“If we're not mobbed, I'd love to hit up a bookstore. New, used, hole in the wall, I'm not picky as long as there are books there.”  
“A bookstore? The school's library isn't enough?”  
“I'm sorry, you must not have met me,” I joked and held out my hand. “My name’s Sara Jane Smythe, and I'm a book addict.”  
Henry chuckles and shakes my hand. “I'd seen your name in your medical paperwork, but I never realized exactly how your last name was pronounced,” he says smiling like the Cheshire Cat.  
“Oh lord and lady,” I reply, “you're a Whovian.”  
“Very much so, I'm afraid. Your parents?”  
“Maybe a little,” I joke, just to hear him laugh again.  
“I notice that they altered your first name’s spelling.”  
“Yes, that was from Nana Sara. Sara Jane is actually my full first name, Opal, after my Grandma is my middle.”  
“So, Sara Jane Opal Smythe?”  
“Yup, that's the whole mouthful.”  
“Either there waer very few Doctor Who fans in your class, or you were very thick-skinned,” he started, looking at me admiringly.  
“Honestly, there were five Sara’s of various spellings in my grade alone, so being Sara Jane helped. Also, for some reason, the local PBS showed Doctor Who at ten PM on Sunday's, so few classmates even knew enough to tease. By the time NuWho came along, I was old enough that the name was cool, or retro.”  
“Lucky for you.”  
“Very much. Besides, haven't you had your share of Dr. McCoy jokes?”  
“With Logan around? I've about gotten sick of them.”  
“Then I'll drop it.”  
“Thank you. Do you need anything for breakfast besides coffee or do you want to shower before we head out?”  
“Toast, please, if you have bread. And yes, I'd like to get all the product out of my hair.”  
“Which first?”  
“Toast, another cup of coffee, then a shower, but that should only take about 45 minutes total unless I get caught up in a book with breakfast.”  
“How on earth do you get your hair dry that fast?! That takes me that much time alone.”  
“Oh, I just braid it back wet. If I blow dry it, it goes poofy. Also, I apologize in advance to your drain and your vacuum. Long hair is murder on both,” as I'm pulling toast from the toaster and putting peanut butter on it.  
He almost snorts, “Have you seen my fur? I should own stock in Dyson, ConAir, and Liquid Plumber.”  
I giggle, “Are you really that bad on blow dryers?”  
“I keep a spare in the hall closet here, and another at the mansion. I go through at least three a year.”  
“Oh my! Ok, maybe long isn't so bad. I just have to snake out my drain about once a month. And the mansion has so many of us with long hair. There's no one person to blame, cleaning off the beater bar is part of the weekly chore list.”  
“I remember having that chore long ago. It was easier when Jean and ‘Ro were the only long-haired people. We'd joke about the red, white, and blue beater bar.”  
I cover my mouth, as it's full of toast and laugh. I manage to swallow the last bite and chug the remains of my coffee. Typically, I take tea with the professor, but I knew that it was likely Henry would only have tea bags, and I'd become a bit of a snob.  
“Ok, one quick shower and I'll be ready.”  
“Take your time, he replies. Would you prefer I wear the image inducer while we're out and about?”  
“Only if you prefer to. I'm fine with being seen in public with you. I just think a press mob would make me have a panic attack.”  
He smiles, “Ok, I'll have it with me, just in case, but I won't plan to turn it on unless we must.”  
“Perfect,” I say, retreating to his guest bathroom. One shower, a braid, and day clothes: a simple shirt, pants, and sneakers, and I are ready to go. Looking into the mirror, I realize that without the makeup, and the corset-like Spanx, I look nothing like the woman in the photo from last night, which is just fine with me. I hope Henry doesn't mind plain old Sara Jane. 

As I finally make myself emerge from the bathroom, I'm greeted in the living room with Henry, dressed similarly to myself, jeans and a nice t-shirt. He smiles, and so do I.

“Ready for that bookstore?” He inquires.  
“I think so. What's the situation at the front doors?”  
“Per the doorman, there are two members of the press, should I turn on the inducer?”  
“No, two I can handle, as long as you're ok with that.”  
“Will it bother you if they make assumptions about our sleeping arrangements? if so, I should turn it on.”  
“They've never spent the night at a friend's? Either on a spare bed or on a couch? If so, they're not human,” I state firmly  
“They're press, m’lady, and I do believe that requires them to remove any trace of humanity.”  
That makes me truly laugh, and his eyes seem to sparkle with his humor. “Let them assume that they will; you know what happens when someone assumes,” I state.  
“Just so long as you're ok with them trying to make you the ass.”  
“It just shows how asinine they are,” I firmly state, grabbing a bag and my coat. “I'm ready if you are?”  
He slides his feet into large loose sneakers and holds out an arm. “Shall we?”  
I smile, take his arm and let him walk us out the door. 

There were a few questions, but the press at the door took Henry's no comment with good graces. He and I walked about three blocks and there, hiding among the other apartments, and small businesses is a used bookstore. We both enter happily and begin to browse, separating as various books grab our interests. 

I'd found two or three books by authors I like, but not enough to buy new or bother with having used copies shipped to the mansion. I keep browsing along, happily grabbing a replacement copy of a Heinlein novel that just hadn't survived the years and moves. I'd gotten it used and in well-loved shape to begin with. 

Not even realizing it I was slightly dancing along with the store’s radio, playing ‘classic’ rock that was songs from my youth. Henry comes around a corner, to find me browsing a bottom shelf, bent over and shaking my hips to the beat. I'm happily lost to the beat and the smell of books, one of my favorite scents, and find another book I'd wanted to read. I grab it and stand up, doing a version of a happy dance at my find, only to be pulled from my dance by deep chuckling. I jump and turn to find Henry, eyes crinkled up in happiness laughing at me. 

“Don't tell me you've never been lost in thought in a library or bookstore, Dr. McCoy?” I pout and accuse.  
“Never to the point of doing a happy dance about a find,” he replies. “May I ask, what novel has you so pleased?”  
Remembering exactly what it is, I blush, and whip the book behind my back, dropping everything else. It was the newest book in a series that I would only admit to liking with my childhood besties, who actually were really accepting of both my mutation and my new job. We refer to the series as ‘chick porn,’ joking that girls don't need photos. 

“It can't be that bad,” he says, and you swear you're blushing clear down to your navel.  
He holds up his stack of books, and teasingly asks, “I'll show you mine if you show me yours?”  
You turn redder than you ever thought you could, and quickly slid the book into your waistband, pulling your top over the title.  
“Nuh uh!” You grunt, and squat to pick up the pile you dropped. “I'll show you these, but there's no way I'm showing off the other.”

“Twenty questions? If I guess, you'll admit?” he almost dares you to play.  
Fairly certain he'd never think about this author, and knowing the stack in your hands, you agree.  
“50 shades?”  
“That trash? The BDSM wasn't even written correctly.”  
Ok, the Kama Sutra?  
“No, that I'd show.”  
“Really?”  
“Yes, and you have seventeen more questions.”  
“That wasn't a guess!”  
“It was a question about this book, so it counts.”  
“Fine,” he pouts.  
“Harlequin romance?”  
“That's an entire section of books, not just one. I'll only answer if you agree it counts for five.”  
“Deal”  
“Nope!” You smirk, “twelve left.”  
“Blast!” he replies. 

“Ok, tabling my guesses, do you want more time, or are you ready?”  
“I could go either way, if you're done I know we need to pack and make it to the station.”  
“I'm finished, but we've got time unless you're going to need over an hour to pack,” he says.  
“Nope, pretty much packed, just need to toss in these books, but I'm fine with leaving. I could stand to grab a snack before the train. Anything good near here?”  
“Do you like Chinese?”  
“Very much.”  
“Half a block away there's a great place.”  
“Perfect. I am going to finish this row real quick, but I'll be ready to check out by the time you're finished and outside, so you can't cheat.”  
“Caught me,” he smiled and turned to the cash register.

You spy a copy of the book you'd been reading before the dinner and grab it right as you hear the door bells ring. He's left, so you heard for the register, put about three of your books in the paper bag you begged from the clerk and everything in your bag. 

Henry was right; the Chinese food was excellent. A blend of truly authentic, but not so much so that you couldn't find egg rolls on the menu. They had excellent hand pulled noodles. He wasted two more guesses at the restaurant, running his tally down to ten.  
With his image inducer and your complete change of style, none of the press recognizes you at the station, and he turns it off after the train departs. 

“Ok, so can I ask if it’s by an author for one question.”  
“Depends on the author, I'll say how many it'll cost before we agree if I answer.”  
“Deal, Danielle Steele?”  
“Two questions,” you go easy on him, it's not right, but you don't want to give it away.  
“Deal.”  
“Nope, eight left.”  
“You're good at this,” he says. “You've got a really good poker face.”  
“I'm not giving in.”  
“Hmmm. It must be really embarrassing.”  
“Is that a question?”  
“No. An observation.”  
“Drat! I'd hoped you'd be forced to give away another.”  
“The Story of O?”  
“Nope, seven.”  
“Wait, you've read that!?”  
“Asking? If so it'll cost a question.”  
“Not right now.”  
Ok. You're beginning to hope you'll get away free. He hasn't been anywhere close to the truth. “How much would it cost to ask if it's a paranormal romance?”  
“Three, would you like the answer?”  
“Please.”  
“Yes, four left, and that's a category growing every day,” I giggle.  
“What year was it published?”  
“Um. Hold on; I grab my phone and Google the title. 2016, three left,” and I quickly lock my phone.  
“Dragonmark, by Sherrilyn Kenyon?” He asks, raising one eyebrow.  
“No, I've read her stuff, but this isn't it. Two more questions,” I tease, almost relieved. 

“I'm going to ponder before I ask. Are you willing to talk in general about the rest of the books you bought? I thought I saw a copy of The Cat Who Walks Through Walls?”  
“Yes, I'm replacing my first copy. It was well loved when I got it, and it's falling apart at this point.”  
“So, you read Science Fiction?”  
“If it has words, and I'm bored, I'll read it. Without the public library, my folks would have been paupers.”  
He chuckled.  
“Every school librarian knew me by name, and I was an assistant for my elementary and high school librarians.”  
He smiled. “Sounds like my childhood.”  
“Were you allowed out of class for a week in fifth grade to help inventory?”  
“Seriously!”  
“I had to come back to class for math. Everything else my teacher knew I'd be fine missing.”  
That made him chuckle, “So you struggled with math?”  
“I wasn't interested, so I didn't give it my full attention. My sixth-grade math teacher told my folks that she'd caught me hiding literature in my math book.”  
That earned me a full belly laugh. “What were the consequences of that choice?”  
“Well, they made a deal. If I kept my grade a mid to high B, let it go. If my grade dipped, call me out on it, and then call them. They'd reinforce that lesson at home. But I didn't know about that until I was in college.”  
“Corporal?” he worried.  
“No, I did earn a few swats, but the last I remember was age four. Unless you're counting getting your knuckles smacked with a spoon for trying to get at raw cookie dough.” That, I pause and half-whisper, “the Christmas before I started working for the professor.” Then I join him with full belly laughs.  
“My mother got me last year,” he confessed, and we both laugh more.  
“I hope you at least caught some dough first.”  
“Yes, and then got the lecture about salmonella.”

We laugh some more. And then I yawn  
“You slept well last night, right?”  
“Oh yes, like a log. I'm just used to the early to bed, early to rise antics of my group.”  
“Feel free to nap; we've got a couple of hours before we arrive.”  
“And give you the chance to cheat by peeking at my bag?” I joke.  
He smiles, “I promise, the secrecy of your book is safe should you nap.”  
“Why thank you for that, kind sir,” I reply using a fake southern accent, and yawn again.  
“Here,” he says, and grabs his jacket, “rest for a bit. I'm sure the mansion will be its usual madhouse.”  
“Thanks,” I sigh and cuddle into his jacket, surrounded again by that combination of scents that make up Dr. Henry McCoy. 

The next thing you know you're pillowed by something warm and Henry is gently walking you. You've slumped over against his arm in your sleep.  
“Sara Jane? We're here. It's time to wake up.”  
“Oh, sorry. You could have pushed me upright.”  
“It wasn't a big deal. I dozed some myself and I could still easily read,” he said, tucking his book into the front of his suitcase.  
“Oh, Asimov. I like his stuff too.”  
“I figured you did if you enjoy Heinlein.” 

We manage to get our stuff gathered and exit the train, heading through the station to meet up with whoever was able to drive us from the station to the mansion. 

“Logan! Good to see you,” Henry booms upon seeing the only adult my height at the school.  
“Well, if it isn't the furball and ivy girl in the flesh.”  
“Watch it, really really old yeller, I mean feller,” I respond. “Call me ivy girl again, and you'll be lucky if I don't convince some poison ivy to come and snuggle with you one night.”  
He snorts but keeps any further commentary to himself, and the two of them begin discussing other subjects as you fight not to doze off again 

“Sara Jane, that book isn't a saved by the highlander time travel book, right? Only answer if that counts as one question. I'm not throwing in the towel for that.”  
I laugh, “I'll count it as one, but only because it's not. Last chance.”  
“Drat.”  
“I don't even think I wanna know, do I?” Logan asks.  
“Twenty questions, beyond that, no, you don't,” I reply curtly.  
“It's just a book, Sara Jane. It's not like I'd caught you in your underwear,” he complains  
“I'd rather have you see me in my underwear, thanks for putting that thought in Logan's mind,” I snipe back. “Can you just drop it for now?”  
“For now.”  
“You're right; I don't wanna know,” Logan blurts into the silence.  
I snicker but stay otherwise silent. 

We pull into the garage and grab our luggage. I drag my bags up to my room and drop them inside the door. I decide I'm just hungry enough that I won't get back to sleep without something to eat, so I wander down to the kitchen. 

To my surprise, Henry and Logan are both there, with sandwich supplies across the counter, so I grab some bread and toss together my sandwich and join them at the table. 

“Looking forward to taking back the X-Tots tomorrow?” Logan asks.  
“I'm sure they've missed me, and there's only six of them, not the usual 12 to 24 you get with a traditional preschool.”  
“I suppose that's a plus, but they're six mutant babies.”  
“I wouldn't call AJ a baby. He'd be likely to hurt himself trying to get you and then you'd feel guilty. Poor Henry would be stuck stitching him up again,” I remind Logan.  
“Even I'm not mean enough to call ‘em babies to their faces. Besides, the lot of you, ‘cepting Charlie are babies from my point of view.”  
“Thanks, grumpy old man.” I'd learned it's best to sass at Logan. If you let him start teasing, he pushes your limits.  
“Sara Jane!”  
Henry must not have seen Logan, and I toss names like this.  
“Don't worry about it furball,” Logan says, “Ivy here is decent about the names.”  
“Call me Ivy once more, and I'll ask the good Doc here to stop Old Yeller from bothering everyone he thinks is in heat,” I respond in my teacher voice. “I know it'll grow back, but it'll hurt until your balls drop.”  
“I'll stop poking if you knock off the jokes about getting rid of anything below the belt.”  
“Deal. You're still planning to grab them for gym first thing, right?” Even though I napped on the train, I know I'm going to drag without a little extra tea tomorrow.  
“Yeah, I'll wear them out and make your morning easy.”  
“Thank you. Do either of you want the sandwich stuff still?”  
“I'm fine. Logan?” Henry asks.  
“I'm good, thanks.”  
I put up all the fridge goodies, wipe the counter and put my plate in the dishwasher.  
“Night.”  
“Night, plant lady.”  
“Good night, Sara Jane.”

I stick my tongue out at Logan and head to bed. Even with the nap, it had been a long weekend. 

 

The next day ran smoothly, and Logan was true to his word, delivering you six exhausted, yet excited to see you kids. The day runs as normally as they ever do, and you're glad to turn them over to either their parent or the older student ‘buddy’ who helps them and you by wearing them out and getting them fed dinner. Bedtime routines are handled by a staff rotation, and you're free this week barring the X-Men from actually going into the field. 

You manage to find Henry hanging from a beam in the tv lounge, reading something.  
“Could you please itch that spot?” You ask, leaning towards him. Distractedly, he lets go of one edge of his reader, and without even looking, manages to scratch that one spot that you can't quite reach for yourself. Upon scratching just the right place, you lean into his hand, sighing with relief and half arousal.  
“Thank you! You're the best.”  
“Anytime, it's not a big deal.” As he continues to scratch your back gently.  
“Maybe not for you,” you gently sass, “but I was nearly ready to ask Logan to use his claws and fix the issue once and for all.”  
“Please don't,” he replies almost half listening. “Dropping everything to stitch you up isn't worth it. Plus, the stitches would itch more than just dry skin. Have you considered lotion?” he asks, finally giving you and the regularly itchy spot his full mental attention. 

He keeps gently scratching the rest of your back, knowing by now it's something you'd never refuse. You keep hoping he'll figure out it's arousing, but that's just never seemed to cross his mind. Some genius he is. 

“If I can't reach it to scratch it, how in the world am I supposed to put lotion on it?!” I ask him incredulously.  
“Good point.”  
“Are you volunteering?” asking half teasing, half hopeful. Then try not to laugh as he turns faintly purple blushing. “I wouldn't be against someone willing to lotion my back.”  
“I'm quite certain anybody here would be willing to offer you assistance with it,” he stammers, beginning to turn even more purple.  
“You're the first to offer,” you quietly respond. “If you can't I'm sure someone would help. It's just that you're great about finding the itchy spot, and I'm going to be perfectly blunt, your nails do the best job scratching,” I trail off, most likely blushing myself by the heat in my cheeks. 

“You really think so?” he almost stutters.  
“Well, you've got to admit, they do an amazing job scratching a girl's itch,” you half joke and somewhere inside yourself confess that they, and what he does with them are a huge turn on. 

Most women might not find a very large, blue, clawed, and predatory appearing man sexy, but since you started teaching at Xavier's School, you've noticed that he's no monster. He has an easy going genuine affection for the students, and is equally at ease with tutoring them or stitching up the occasional deep cut that somehow happens within a large group of kids. 

“Why wouldn't I? They belong to the very nice person who not only obliged me by dealing with a physical annoyance, and who also kindly stitched up AJ.”

At that he chuckled, both of you remember how the young daredevil had nosedived into the edge of a bench. Four stitches, a cool bandaid, and a sucker later Henry had won the boy's admiration and this fellow teacher's appreciation. The gently scratching nails begin to wander to your scalp, and you nearly melt against his hand

“Besides, those nails, belong to one of the wonderfully strong people who helped move my planters. And the brawn comes with a brain, which is my definition of sexy.” 

“Brains are sexy?” he almost sputters.  
“Of course. Remember physiologically, a woman's pleasure is as much mental as physical. And after a day of teaching basic social skills, having a conversation that doesn't revolve around who's turn on the swing, is very very stimulating,” you nearly purr.  
“Oh, my stars,” He half mutters. 

At this point, his hand has wanders down your back again and is nearing the curve of your lower back. You've lost track of how many erogenous zones he's gently teased with his nails.  
“Henry?” you ask.  
“Yes?”  
“I hate to be rude, but either you're going to have to stop scratching, or we're going to have to head somewhere private,” you nearly whisper, not sure who's nearby.  
He deeply breathes in, finally becoming aware of your arousal.  
“Oh, my stars and garters!” He responds and removes his hand, turning nearly as purple as an eggplant.  
“I never said you had to stop...” you whisper, “you're welcome to come and visit my room. I just knew I was going to become obvious if you didn't let us retreat.” 

You gently kiss his palm, and slowly retreat towards your room, hoping he follows. Hearing a thump, you hope he jumped down and didn't fall.  
Suddenly he's right behind you, and whispers in your ear, “My room has better soundproofing.”  
You smile and start slowly running for his room, knowing from reading it somewhere that more feral mutants enjoy the chase and catch.  
He waits to catch you at his room door, you know he could have caught you easily anywhere down the hall he grabs you up bridal style, opens the door, kicks it closed, and places you on the bed, his arms on either side, but not straddling you. 

“M’lady, are you quite certain about this?” he asks honestly looking at you, flushed and sprawled beneath him.  
To quote a really corny movie, “I've got an itch to scratch, I need assistance!” half singing it as Susan Sarandon did.  
He chuckles, “Seriously Sara Jane, what are you asking for? A one-time deal, a relationship, something in between?”

“I knew I liked you after AJ,” I state firmly. “Your shyness with offering a hotel room, made me realize just how much a gentleman you are. And your foot rub made me see that I am attracted to you. The ongoing twenty questions and your concern for my public image increased that, and your care for me while sleeping on the train was wonderful. You smell amazing, and frankly, the scratching pushed my brain into action. What are you interested in?” you ask worriedly about his answer not sure if you just want to have a long distance relationship, but knowing you can't stop yourself from grabbing tonight, even if that's all the further it goes. 

“Well, I knew I liked you after seeing you manage a herd of very young mutants, all stronger than you, without any fear, and even fondness and love for them,” he replied smiling. “When I came out of my room the night of the dinner and saw you were wearing my bracelet, sitting there beautifully dressed to the nines, peacefully reading, that fondness deepened. Your handling of the senator and you being so open and calm about it made me see your bravery. You might not be the fighter on the team, but you're willing to stand your ground. The twenty questions have me intrigued and very aware of your intelligence. And, even if I wasn't consciously aware of it until about five minutes ago, you smell amazing yourself,” the smile then turned into something still happy, but almost possessive. 

“Ok, so we're both interested, yes?”  
“Oh yes, Sara Jane,” his pupils dilate.  
“A one nighter, something casual when you're here, or a long distance thing?”  
“Everything m’lady will permit? I'm fine with whatever option you're most comfortable with,” he says.  
“I'd like more than a one night stand, are you ready for a relationship?”  
“I am, but I'll be honest, I've never had much luck with them,” he confesses. “The only major condition I need to make first is that if you choose to end this, talk to me. No voicemail or digital break ups.”  
“You've had someone do that?” I blurt out astonished. After seeing his eyes I know his answer. “That bitch! I cannot believe… no...if I'm able to talk to someone to start a relationship, I can pull on my big girl panties and talk to the person to end it. Promise.”  
“Thank you,” he says, and I hug him, because he deserves that.

“Ok, back to us, not some skank...I know I don't have anything STI related. I have an IUD, so I'm not worried about getting pregnant. Do you want to skip condoms, or should we play it safe?” I ask, nervous, but very interested. 

“I am free of all STIs; I trust your word, do you mine?”  
“I wouldn't be here if I didn't,” I firmly state.  
“Fair enough. Do we need to set any limits?” he inquires nervously.  
“Can we take that as we go? Red, yellow, green, by either of us?” I ask, worried this willingness and knowledge of BDSM might stop him.  
He chuckles, “I should have known. You did say 50 shades was badly written BDSM.”  
His laughter calms me. “So, how about that itch?” I tease.  
A small growl escapes from his lips before he presses them onto mine.  
I lean into it and wrap my arms around his neck.  
“Fair warning,” he pulls back to the state, “My canines are sharp enough to draw blood, please be cautious Sara Jane,” then learns in and deepens our kiss into a discovery of my mouth. 

Moaning a little I respond in kind, being cautious about his teeth, but swept away by the feelings for this available man, right on top of me. It has been way too long since my last date, let alone a relationship.  
He stops kissing my mouth, almost making me whimper, but begins a slow investigation along my jaw, towards my ear, conveniently putting his ear near my mouth.  
“Fair warning,” I tell him, my voice a little rough, “I bite,” and nibble gently on his ear.  
He growls slightly, “Oh, so you play like that,” he whispers, grabbing my earlobe carefully with his teeth and again growling, making me shiver.  
“Color?” he asks.  
“Very green. More?”  
Exhaling a small laugh, he nibbles more, which makes me writhe and I start exploring all of him I can reach with hands and mouth, cautious of his fur. As he returns to kissing my mouth deeply, our hands stay roaming, both of mine and one of his. 

As I move my hands down his back, I grow frustrated with his shirt the same time he does with mine.  
“Off?” he asks half growing, pulling at the hem of my top.  
“Sauce for the goose…?” I trail off.  
He laughs, sits up and pulls off his shirt, I wiggle a bit and sit up to remove mine.  
“May I?” He asks, holding the hem.  
“Why thank you, kind sir,” I again joke with a fake southern accent, and raise my hands to assist him. My one regret is that I'm not wearing a fancy bra, just a plain every day one. Maybe next time…

He resumes kissing me using both hands to explore as do I. Rubbing my thumbs over his nipples, earning a slight growl, so I run my hands down his abs and up his sides, enjoying the response.  
He wiggles then pull away. “If you keep tickling, I'm going to have to stop you.”  
“Uh huh,” I say, running my hands down his sides teasingly. “Prove it.”  
He growls a bit again then quickly pushes me back on the bed. Grabbing both of my hands with one of his hits pulls them above my head.  
“Stay,” he commands, there asks, “color?”  
“Green, but don't tear the bra; it's comfy.”  
“Well then, we'll have to get it off, now, won't we,” he teases. 

Sadly the best bras I found for kid wrangling are plain minimizers, but this one is colorful, blue, with a floral pattern.  
“May I?” I ask, pointing to my bra, not moving my hands.  
“Please,” he says, and helps me to sit up again. I remove it then toss it to the side and lie back again, putting my hands back above my head, shifting just a little.  
“How do you hide all this glory with such a trivial bit of cloth?” he ponders, running his hands firmly up my belly, towards my breasts.  
“Minimizer,” I reply. “It's easiest with the kids that way,” squirming a little waiting for more erotic contact.  
“I regret you must hide this light beneath the bushel,” he responds. 

He's finally at the bottom of my breasts, and I'm fighting myself to not grab his hands and place them on my nipples. He must notice, because he leans over and licks my collarbone, making me gasp. Smiling he reaches up with his right hand and gently kisses my left breast at the same time. 

I grasp, and subconsciously lean my chest towards him. He gently pinches my right and licks my left side, and I begin to move my hands. 

“Sara Jane,” he says mock-sternly. “Do I need to restrain those hands to remind you?”  
Quickly I put them back above my head. “More, please Henry,” I plead, and I feel his silent laughter across my shoulder.  
I feel his hand slide back up my stomach and over my breast as he gently latches on to the other. Grasping I lean into the sensation as he begins to play with my right nipple and latch on to my left.  
I sigh and begin to give in and just rejoice in the sensation, knowing that I can move my hands, but sinking nto a happy relaxed mental place.  
He seems to know I'm submitting, and he rewards me, increasing the pressure, playing and switching sides so that both beasts are wet and fully peaked.  
“Color?”  
“Green.”  
He latches even more firmly on my right nipple and begins to pinch my left. I swear that I'm sure I've not just soaked my panties but am working on soaking my pants with arousal.  
He pinches harder and begins to bite down, almost to the point of breaking skin, until I gasp out, “Yellow!”  
He immediately stops and looks into my eyes.  
“Amazing, but too much,” I pant. “Did you break the skin?”  
“Not quite, but you're going to have a bruise,” he tells me quietly.  
“Ok, I'm ok, but not quite that much.”  
“Thank you.” Once you relaxed, “I worried you wouldn't say if it were too much,”  
“No, I'm here, just enjoying everything.”  
“Good. I don't want to cross a boundary and lose you.”  
I do move my hand at that point, but to cup his cheek. “Thank you,” I sigh and pull him towards my lips for a gentle kiss. “Can we keep going now? Please?” and I put my hand back above my head, and nibble at his lower lip.  
He growls a little. “Pants off?” he questions.  
“I'll show you mine if you show me yours,” I joke, using the same words he did about our books. 

“Deal,” he says, and promptly manhandles me out of both my pants and my panties, then nearly rips his remaining clothes off his body.  
Crouched between my thighs he shyly asks, “May I?”  
“Green! You're welcome to stop asking; I’ll speak up. Please no anal, otherwise, I'll yellow if needed.”  
“Since you have, okay, l needed to know you would speak up.”  
“C’mon Henry, don't forget about Senator Jerkface, I'll make sure you know,” I say and cup both cheeks to kiss him again  
“True, but I don't want to lose this, right as it's being gifted to me.”  
“You're fine, stop worrying,” I say, kiss him deeply again, then lie down, place my hands above my head, and widen the distance between my knees.  
He begins at my left breast, licking and sucking it until I'm gasping, hands roaming all over, nails scratching just hard enough not to tickle. Then he begins to kiss, lick and nibble his way down my stomach towards the juncture of my thighs, and then settles himself in. Licking between my labia, growling a little, I arch my pelvis toward him in silent invitation. 

Finding my clitoris, he focuses on it, sucking and licking as my gasping turns to panting. He places a finger at my entrance and hesitates to see if I'll protest. I arch my entire lower back off the bed, welcoming the attention. He smiles, easing his finger in as I relax back towards the bed. He returns his affections to my clit as he pumps his finger in and out, then sliding in a second. I push myself towards his face as he finds and works my G spot, and he increases the suction in response, then starts flicking at my clit with his tongue. 

I give up holding my hands still, and run my fingers through the fur on his head, earning me a purr that pushes me over the edge. As I climax, he keeps purring and adds a third finger, making my noises go from panting moans to a half scream of pure pleasure. He keeps pumping his fingers and orally worshipping my clit.

As I come down from the high of my climax, he kisses his way up my body until we're mouth to mouth and I'm carefully avoiding getting my tongue nicked. 

“Condom?” he checks one last time. 

“I'm clean and protected, I trust that you're clean, dealer's choice,” I respond  
He smiles as his answer and shifts himself beginning to rub the head of his penis against my folds. I can tell just from that, he's bigger than any previous partner I've had, and I smile and tilt my pelvis in invitation.  
He enters me slowly almost as if he's worried for me. He feels so amazing just entering I push back trying to impale myself on his length. He keeps entering frustratingly slowly until I feel his testicles and I realize he's against my cervix he's so long. That knowledge makes me moan, and smiling he begins to pump himself inside me.  
I let my hands roam, fingers combing his fur, which starts him purring again. 

Leaning forward, I lick his left nipple, and he increases the pace of his hips. Encouraged, and incredibly turned on by how full I feel, I latch on to his nipple, sucking and gently biting. He groans and speeds up more grabbing one of my wandering hands and sliding it between us to my clit. Seeing this reaction, I increase the suction, and pinch his right nipple gently, then more firmly as he speeds up, and somehow thrusts deeper, tapping my cervix with each stroke, and pushing me towards a second climax. 

I break suction and pant, “So close.”  
“Come with me,” he responds and speeds up yet again. I move the hand from my clit to his hips and match his thrusts with mine until I climax, stronger than the first, and I feel him lose pace, and roar his climax 

He grabs me and rolls us flopping on the bed with me still inside him. We both catch our breath, and after I feel him slip from inside me, I roll onto one side of him curling in and relaxing. We both kiss, and even though i know we need to clean up, we lie there for a bit. I'm not quite sure who fell asleep first. 

We're both startled awake at someone banging on the door. 

“Hank, get up,” Logan growls. “Sara Jane’s missing.”  
I look at Henry's alarm clock 9:15! I grab Henry's t-shirt and throw it on, looking to make sure he's covered, and crack the door.  
“I'm here Logan, sorry I scared everyone. Can someone cover my class for ten minutes so I can change?”  
“Take enough time to shower,” he says. “Even people without my nose would know what went on last night. Next time just warn someone, and we'll cover your class, Ivy.”  
“This wasn't exactly pre-planned Mutton Chops. Otherwise, I would have. Go call off the search; I'll be down shortly,” I sigh. 

I swear I hear him snickering as I close the door and rest my forehead against the door jamb. 

“Are you alright, my dear?” Henry asks, coming up behind me and wrapping his arms around my waist.  
“Yeah, I knew this wouldn't stay our secret long, but I was hoping to not make the walk of shame in less than twelve hours,” I answer, turning to hug him tightly.  
“I'm so sorry, I should have woken you, or set am alarm,” he begins worrying.  
“It's not your fault,” I sighed. “I could have gone to my room after, but you're rather comfy. I only meant to cuddle for a few minutes before I cleaned up.”  
He laughs, knowing I don't blame him. “Me too, but you were snuggly and I dozed off too.”  
“Ok, where did you put my clothes?” I ask, heading for where I knew he’d dropped my top.  
He laughs, and we find all my clothes and I pull them on. 

He sighs, “Parting is such sorrow.”  
“Tonight?” I ask, hopefully.  
“It's a date.”  
“I'll catch the Professor about a sub for tomorrow.”  
He laughs, “Oh my last guess. Hamilton's newest, Dead Ice?”  
“How did you pull that rabbit out of your hat?” I blurted.  
“You were looking at her section when I startled you, and the happy dance must have meant you hadn't read it yet.”  
“Yes,” I sigh. “I started reading her in high school, but they're so smutty now I won't buy them new. You knew the entire time?!”  
“I suspected, but after certain comments about authors and books, I was nearly certain. I should let you shower before Logan sends your class after you. “  
“Please no,” I reply.  
“Goodbye, my Sara Jane,” he says hugging me off the ground and making me laugh at the quote. 

“Goodbye, my Doctor, “I reply, kissing him, and quickly run off to shower.


End file.
